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by KitiKat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Depression, Fix-It, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitiKat/pseuds/KitiKat
Summary: Major Avengers: Endgame spoilers.For some, it was the end.For some, there is still an after.Alright,Thor thinks,I’ll just have to carve myself a new place in the universe. Easy-peasy.





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**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR Endgame Spoilers. Last warning!

I.

Thor’s had his catharsis, to the extent that there can be a catharsis to everything he has been put through. Having won the battle means little in the greater scheme of things—he is not going to celebrate in the face of great loss: loss of his home, his family, his friends, none of which could have been brought back with the undoing of the snap, but what he has ultimately lost is any purpose he has had left in life. If he was miserable before, he is wretched now; in his emptiness, he could still hold on to his failure, to the disappearance of half of life around him, but with the deed done and the balance restored, there is nothing left for him to hold onto. He feels untethered as if only the guilt he was inflicted with gave any meaning to his existence and having been freed of it means that he will just cease being. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to clear the fog in his mind, but to no avail. There is no clarity in his thought, no precision in his power, no fortune in his future. Not anymore.

He thinks about all the people newly lost. Natasha, he thinks with a ghost of a smile, he understands her well. He would do exactly what she set out to do, having been robbed of everything good he had in his life, just wishing to be _useful_ for a damned change and maybe help someone else get home, to their life, to their family, now that he would never be able to anymore. Tony’s loss pains him too much to think about, recalling Pepper and little Morgan he scarcely got to know. He would wish it was him to wield the Gauntlet, to bear the brunt of the Stones, but he knows Tony well enough that he would have wanted them to respect his choices. And Thor cannot help but do so; a man so dutiful to humanity, so ready to _give_ in the face of an unsmiling universe without even thinking that he could take, he could take the happy wife and the little girl and the quiet house in the wild and just run, but Tony Stark does not operate like that. His heart is too big, and selfishness something he should have had more of.

Thinking about Steve’s life, led in a city nearby but set apart by a lifetime, it _pains_ Thor. It pains him because he wants to be in Steve’s place, just a Stone to carry him backwards in time, across space, whatever it takes, and just to be with the people he wants to spend his life with. It is not a possibility for him, Steve saw an opening and took his chance, he knows, but wanting is tricky because it does not care about things like rules or order or balance or reason.

He sleeps for a long time, uninterrupted. No amount of sleep is enough to make him want to leave his bed these days.

Until he has a dream, one he knows is different than the others. He can tell it is less a dream and more a vision.

He is in the halls of Asgard, right behind the giant bust of Borr, where he would hide as a kid. He’s sitting cross-legged on the space between the bust and the wall, somewhere he knows he can’t logically fit in this size. Everything is as he remembers from his childhood, save for a small carving on the back of the bust. It has a shape Thor can’t discern, distinctive but also seemingly fluid; changing from one shape to another as he tries to track it with his eyes. He hears hurried footsteps in the hall, getting closer to where he is hiding. He is very scared, all of a sudden, of who this person might turn out to be. He really does not want this to be about an intrusion on Asgard, or worse, a reliving of the day the Dark Elves infiltrated their home. He can’t go through something like that, he _can’t._ He’ll just crumble apart.

The footsteps get closer and slower. It’s as if they know he’s here, and they know he’s hiding.

“There you are,” Frigga’s voice rings in the hall. Thor could cry at the sound of her voice, but he holds himself still. “Care to tell me why you are not with your brother in the gardens? Your nurse was worrying herself sick, poor girl.”

“I didn’t want to play,” Thor sulks. He remembers this day. Loki had made him the captive when he was obviously meant to be the warrior. “I hate that game.” He keeps talking. “Come to think of it, I hate everything, every single thing going on out there right now. What am I supposed to do, where am I supposed to go? I’m not even sure there is a place for me out there anymore.”

They are not in the halls anymore. He has his head in Frigga’s lap, and she’s braiding his hair, her hands deft and soft on his head, making him feel at peace in a way he hasn’t for so long. “You just had to say, my boy, or do something about it. You don’t have to strive to be the brother, son, or man you are supposed to be, just chart your own course and be someone you want to be, and you will have made your mama proud.”

Thor’s eyes well up. “What if I can’t? I don’t—don’t have the will to do anything anymore. Am I good for anything still?” Frigga _tsk’_ s and silences him. “Baby steps,” she says, “you didn’t become this person overnight, so what makes you think everything will change immediately? Take life at your own pace, you’re in no hurry anymore. The sun will rise tomorrow, and the day after that, and you will have as many chances as you want to change anything you want to.”

He knows that she’s dead, he is not at the point of hallucinations just yet, but there’s something very _real_ about this vision that he can’t put his finger on. He puts his head back down in her lap and listens to her idle chatter until he wakes up.

In the morning, the _Milano_ is at New Asgard, and Rocket has disembarked, wringing his hands and pacing back and forth. He makes Thor an offer he can’t refuse. Thor looks back at the bay they have claimed as theirs, sees Valkyrie giving him a smile. She’s his queen now, as she is everybody’s, as much as Thor feels like he doesn’t belong to this place anymore. _These people and I share Asgardian blood_ , he thinks, but there are no names to go with the faces he sees around, and no one has even tried approaching him apart from Korg and Miek. He says his goodbyes and gets Valkyrie’s blessing one last time. _Alright,_ he thinks, _I’ll just have to carve myself a new place in the universe. Easy-peasy._

Breathing comes easier after that, not as easy as it had been, but that is still a start. He no longer feels like a useless placeholder for something glorious he used to be—like an integral part of him was lost in the process. Maybe, he thinks, there is a way back. Thunder roils within him, an ancient power humming its approval, almost.

II.

One dream does not turn his life around altogether. He is aboard on the _Milano_ now, driven by a purpose to explore and get to know the universe, and maybe find himself along the road--but there is still a part of him that is a yawning void, sucking everything in and leaving nothing to care, cherish or enjoy. On some days he is overcome by waves of apathy, days he spends in his quarters, where he sleeps for hours on end. He doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t bother anyone, so they let him be, trading quiet, concerned glances with pursed lips.

He has his first panic attack on the _Milano_ when he hears the word _Thanos_ on the broadcast they are listening to. It is a different Thanos whose MO is petty theft and has such a small prize on his head that they won’t even bother with him, but that doesn’t stop Thor from seeing white. He gasps for air but is left wheezing, a sharp stabbing pain in his chest. He falls onto the floor and Mantis jumps in to dissipate his panic and bring him back to the surface.

The thing with being on a spaceship with a bunch of super-powered misfits, though, is that everyone is a mess. Nobody judges Thor, because they have been through similar patches, where existence and nonexistence for them came one after another, drifting in and out and in, or they personally had to get through some of that hellscape Thor trudged through for years, so rather than judgement they offer solace and patience. There are bad days where there’s hardly more than a few words exchanged between people, there are _bad days_ where they have to break up fights between Rocket and Quill, or Quill and Thor, and on one horrific occasion that still haunts everyone, Mantis and Groot. They have good days as well. Quill teaches Thor a period of Midgardian music he didn’t even know existed, and Drax challenges him to eating contests. He looks forward to those good days, after which he can breathe a little easier.

His weird vision-dreams continue on board the ship. Once, he plays hide-and-seek with Loki in the palace gardens. Loki asks him insightful questions about his life and where he is right now. He has a ball in his hands that he keeps bouncing, and there is a vaguely familiar pattern on the ball. He tries to explain how he feels, tells him about the progress he’s making, but Loki just huffs and says _I asked where,_ and stomps away. In another, Allfather drops in on Loki and Thor’s history lesson, secretly cracking a smile when Loki comes up with wisecrack answers to their tutor’s increasingly boring questions, drawing mindless shapes on his notebook. He thinks they cannot see him, but Thor can. For all the wrongs he has done, Thor cannot help but feel happy for having had him as his father.

They find Gamora a few months into their expedition, and although Gamora doesn’t remember him, Thor remembers her, from before. Everything he pushed away, every detail of their war against Thanos is at the forefront in his mind again, the way Loki looked at Thor as if he had _any_ idea how much seeing him pull that stupid trick hurt, how Thanos choked and dropped Loki like a rag-doll for that, the spear piercing through Heimdall’s heart, all the plans they made after, the way he got Stormbreaker forged and took the brunt of a neutron star in the process and how it was all in vain because he did not aim for the head—

—he then remembers and is actually surprised to realize, it doesn’t matter, because they won anyway. That son of a bitch is dead and dusted, already forgotten in the history books he was aiming to bury them in, and he smiles a little. It feels good.

He asks the Guardians to shift their course when he feels like he can do it. They go back to where it all began. The _Statesman,_ or rather, what is left of it, is still floating around in the area where they left it. Thor is nervous—seeing this wreckage invokes bad memories, although all of the people who were aboard this ship are well and safe in New Asgard, save for the two people he has arrived for. He looks around, frustrated, because he can’t see either of them. Gamora locks arms with him and takes him to the glass panel on the other side. Thor shudders, having seen both Loki and Heimdall, hovering weightlessly a few yards from each other. He says a wordless prayer and takes the Stormbreaker. Hitting them with lightning blasts is not the best substitute for a proper funeral, but they will have to make do with what they have. When it is done, he sleeps better.  
  
At some point, the ship actually feels like it could be a home for him, maybe not the place he belongs in the universe, but a quiet harbor he can always come back to. He spends the majority of his time with Rocket and Groot, finding out more about console games and the art of prosthetics. It is an interesting combination of subjects, which he’s sure he will never have any use for, but he enjoys listening to them talk about their passions anyway. In turn, he tells them stories, old and new, real and made-up, heartbreaking and elating, Asgardian and Terran, and feels the yawning void close down, inch by inch. _Baby steps,_ he reminds himself. He’s got this. 

III.

It is very busy at the bazaar, which is meant to be the galaxy’s largest and most famous. There are rows upon rows upon rows of small booths, stalls and enthusiastic salespeople, trying to entice customers by shouting as loud as they can about the products they sell. There is a storm brewing in the distance, but the sunlight still casts pretty shadows over the place, filtered through the colorful patterned cloths strewn above the poles. Thor is still sifting through the odd trinket here and there, but he is almost done with his shopping. It’s almost his third year traveling across the cosmos with the Guardians, maybe even as a member of the Guardians, although the discussions with Quill are still ongoing. He is determined to mark the day with presents for the Guardians, so he keeps looking around intently. He heard about a most skilful sorcerer who has a booth here, from dozens of bewildered shoppers whispering fervently about him, and he wonders if he can get the sorcerer to charm this pair of cuffs he has gotten for Gamora so that they can grow spikes on command or throw lasers or something. Thor has never been very creative with charms.

He then sees a pattern of lightning bolts on the ground, imprinted there by the sun shining through a rich, dark blue cloth to his left. He cannot help but be drawn in and sees the booth right underneath the cloth. There are neatly stacked books to the left, looking old but well looked after. Thor’s hit by a wave of nostalgia, he can picture these books in Asgard’s library, he and Loki looking at them in awe among the endless shelves which reach up, up, up into the sky. He is immediately warmed to the shop, his heart filled with an inexplicable warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. He tentatively enters and sees that the shopkeeper’s behind the till, nose deep in a book that looks like it was left in the middle of a hurricane and haphazardly put back together. He can hardly see the shopkeeper’s face behind the flurry of pages. Once inside, he feels…different. It then dawns on him that he’s in the sorcerer’s den, filled to the brim with strong charms and wards which would make themselves known to him. He looks at the books laid out on the table, and sees one he vaguely remembers reading when he was very little or was it Odin who read it to him? The wards and sigils are buzzing very slightly, creating a pleasant backdrop for shopping. Thor feels calm for the first time in so long, taking a deep breath and letting it fill his lungs. If he doesn’t focus on his surroundings, he can pretend that he is soaking in the magic of Old Asgard, and it is thinking about Old Asgard that finally does the trick.

Thor, _the big oaf Thor_ , finally thinks of looking at the rest of the booth, taking his eyes off the pile of books. There are sigils _everywhere_ , powerful sigils that hum of blood magic, but somehow they are not threatening, it’s more like they are inviting him in. He looks at one of them in more detail.

It is the exact same pattern he has been seeing in his damned dreams for so long.

Where the old Thor would lash out, the new Thor stands up straight. He turns back to face the shopkeeper, and cannot stop his face from going slack. He feels like his knees may give out any second.

Loki is standing right in front of him, hands clasped in his back, a proud smile on his face.

Thor thinks he will either faint or throw up.

“Who the hell are you?” he lets out through gritted teeth.

“Brother mine, don’t tell me your pity party has seen you lose your memory as well,” Loki snaps, but he looks more wary than hostile. He is drawing the same sigil that is adorning the walls of the booth on a scrap of paper.

“You are dead,” Thor says with conviction, “I found your body, and I know that you really are this time. I even gave you a funeral. Which evil are you, trying to fool me using my _brother’s_ face?”

Loki sighs. “I _am_ dead in this universe, aren’t I?” he mutters, nodding. Thor stares at him. “You see, I thought Stark or Rogers would have let you know what happened when they went to New York to grab the Infinity Stones. They failed spectacularly at grabbing a hold of the Tesseract, and, in fact, dropped it right into my very arms. How could I say no to making a run?”

Thor remembers this story, told to him quietly and hurriedly by Scott while everyone was trying to process Nat’s loss. “That doesn’t explain how you are here, even if you are my brother for real.”

“I saw your little pest-friend kicking the Tesseract’s case around and figured that there was something _big_ going on. I was right, of course. I did some snooping around and found out everything that went on. Honestly, I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

Thor folds his arms and stands up straighter. “Tell me this, how did you get here and what is this sigil? How did you even find out about everything that happened?” He gets his hopes up. He has come back from the brink once, he can do it again.

Loki shrugs as if Thor is asking him about the weather, or how his day went. “The well of Mimir. Sneaked in there and took a dip. Seeing everything that happened in this universe, and everything that happened between us and the way I…had to leave, I felt like I owed it to you to come here. I packed up, took all my belongings from Asgard, tried to find out where you were but you refused to disclose your location to me, _you idiot,_ prepared a sigil to draw you in, and walked through the branches of Yggdrasil to come join you, simple as that. It was a one-way trip, so I hope you don’t make me regret this.”

That explanation, that demeanor, everything about this screams _Loki_. Thor’s knees buckle and down he goes. Loki’s at his side momentarily, grabbing at his arm and looking at him with furrowed brows. He doesn’t make a scathing comment as he is wont to do and sits down on the ground right next to Thor. The sun glints into his eyes, so he closes them and lays his head on Loki’s shoulder. He breathes, deep and slow, and finds that there _is_ someone and somewhere for him in this universe after all. Anything good the Fates send his way, he will just grasp with both hands and never let go. He has learned his lesson the hard way. “I’m sorry that you won’t get to see the other Thor anymore. Hope I’m a good enough substitute.”

Loki looks his way and smirks, his eyes glinting as if they’re privy to a secret joke. Thor and Loki, against the rest of the world. “Nah, you’re good,” he says, “I prefer my brothers one-eyed, soft-hearted and distinctly Viking-like.”

**Author's Note:**

> Endgame ended me and my academic life and my psychological wellbeing. Thor’s characterization I found spot on, but the execution was a bit disappointing. I didn’t like my boy being the laughing stock for the majority of the film.
> 
> Wanna cry about Endgame together? Find me at mjolniristhecoolest on Tumblr!


End file.
